


When He Loved Me

by Novachester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3879235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novachester/pseuds/Novachester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rather ambiguous PWP that can either be the ship of your choice or just a personal fantasy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When He Loved Me

Castiel is incredible.  
  
Flushed and sweating, little drops of moisture beading along his hairline. He’s not used to this kind of heat, you think, but it suits him, adds to the depths of his desperation as he leans in again to kiss you, clumsy but _hungry_.

Just when you think you’re the one in charge, the one with the upper hand, you feel the shift in his body tension and suddenly he’s flipping you over, pushing you up against the wall and searching your mouth with his tongue, demanding answers you’re not sure you have, but hell, you’ll do your damned best so long as he keeps those hands fisted in your hair.

You moan when he pulls experimentally on your hair and he goes harder, bolstered by your response, until your neck is arched back and he’s mouthing fervently at it, sucking and biting. You wonder if he’ll leave marks. You hope he does.

His mouth is everywhere on you, licking over your skin like the sea salt taste of you is what’s keeping him alive. He moans your name against your skin and you think _Fuck, I wanna taste you too._

  
You must say it out loud because he leans back, affords you a good look at his kiss-swollen lips and hazy eyes. “Okay,” he says, and you never thought it possible, but his voice is deeper, rougher, parched. His hands move from your hair and to your neck, thumb resting over your thudding pulse point. “Show me what you want.”  
  
You reach up and cup his face in return, drag him in for another bruising kiss because you’ve learned this is how you want it; how you both need it. You smile at him as you break away before you kiss just the corner of his mouth, his jaw. You revel in the sharpness of his features and the prickle of his stubble on your lips, rubbing your thumbs back and forth on his face. “I’ll take care of you,” you murmur, and you feel him loosen in your hands, like some phantom weight has eased off.  
  
“I trust you,” he says, and you want to envelop yourself in it, keep warm in the curl of his words for as long as you can.  
  
You slide down the length of his body, pressing kisses to his collarbones, his chest, each nipple and each rib. You lick the slopes of him and sigh against the curve of his inner thigh, settling on your knees. His hands fall instinctively into your hair and you think _Yes, take. Take all of me._  
  
You start right at the base of him, press your nose into the dense brown curls and mouth gently at his shaft, teasing touches that are so much gentler than the pound of your heart. Your tact belies your own sense of urgency, gives you the illusion of a calm you don’t really have. He is so much raw power that surely the only way not to be scorched by this burning sun confined in flesh is to be swift and soft.  
  
“Oh,” he gasps when you lick at the head of his cock, and you smile.  
  
_This_ is power, having him at your mercy with a few flicks of your tongue, and it’s almost as intoxicating as he by his very own virtue is. You hush him once, a soft exhale of air along his shaft before you slowly open around him, enveloping him in the wet warmth of your mouth in one long, slow slide, savoring the weight of him inside you.  
  
He’s cussing above you, and you fleetingly think that you would like a deity who cussed, who could be taken apart and reconstructed by his disciples; a god who is not above his people, but who is the embodiment of them.  
  
Your eyelids flutter as his hips jerk, his cock filling your throat. Tears well and sit heavy on your eyelashes, weighing them down as your emotions spiral up, up, up. His breath is ragged and your heart swells warmly with the notion that you, and only you, are bringing this to him in this moment. Perhaps you’re not the first, and perhaps you’re not the last, but this moment is yours. In this moment, _he_ is yours, and no one will ever be able to take that away from you.  
  
“I feel you,” he rasps, one hand sliding down from your hair, touching your cheek, the wetness spilling from your eyes. He cups your jaw, fingertips trembling under the line of it. You want to kiss his fingertips. “You’re so— _oh_.”  
  
_I love you_ , you think, and even if you never say it out loud, you hope he can feel it in the way you take him deeper, swallowing down both him and the words that threaten to spill out around him the second he pulls away.  
  
He cries out when he comes, clutching you so tightly to him that you sputter and choke, tears falling freely from your eyes in a release that’s so cathartic is just makes you want it to never stop. You swallow every drop he offers and gasp when he eases out, swaying unsteadily in the wake of it all.  
  
Castiel catches you before you fall back, curling his arms around you and squeezing tight. “Incredible,” he murmurs blissfully, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You laugh, hugging him back and pressing your lips to his, sighing into it. You don’t know how someone else’s orgasm can make you feel so much lighter, so much more free, but it has.  
  
He cups your jaw and uses his thumbs to wipe the stray tears from your face, kissing away the streaks. “Let me try,” he says like a plea, and you could never deny him much of anything, let alone this. “I want to taste you, too.”  
  
“Yeah,” you breathe, voice cracking, strained. “Y-yeah, okay,” you say, and he lays you back against the cool ground, kissing down the span of your body, hands running along every inch of skin he can reach, mapping and committing you to his memory. You wonder if you can live forever in the depths of his mind.  
  
He doesn’t have any level of restraint in him, or any boundaries to where he’ll stroke, kiss and lick. The glide of his hands over your body reminds you of an artist tracing his canvas, fluid and agile. He draws constellations on your skin and writes forgotten languages across you with the tip of his tongue. You lose sense of time and reality, all of it melting away into a downward spiral as he takes you apart, piece by blessed piece.

He is relentlessly soft in his onslaught, unfazed by the way you buck and urge. The way he touches is both analytical and raw, as though his intent is to educate himself while infuriating you into an absolute frenzy of impatience and arousal.

It’s working.

You gasp when his mouth finally settles between your legs, hot and wet and all consuming. You dig your hands into the mess of his hair and moan long and loud, closing your eyes as stars burst behind them. His tongue is quick and clever, something you’ve always known in conversation, and you wonder absently if you’ll ever be able to look again at his mouth without remembering this feeling.

Cas breaks away and pants against your inner thigh, the press of his mouth soaked with spit and with _you_ , a thought that makes your stomach flip.  
  
You take the moment to draw in some ragged breaths of your own, caught between being thankful for the breather and being furious that he’d dare stop. “I never knew,” he says against your skin. Goosebumps rage up your legs at the sound of his voice, the feel of his words. He nuzzles in where he’s been busily licking and sucking and you groan, skin sensitive. “I never knew you would taste this amazing.”

“Finish,” you try to order, but your voice is too breathy and too desperate. You don’t care that you’re begging. “Don’t stop, _fuck_ , please.”

Never one to disappoint, Castiel eagerly complies.  
  
You practically scream when climax hits, consumed by his warmth, taste and scent. There is nothing around you but him and for one terrifying second, you know that you really have just touched something beyond yourself, beyond this world, and it has touched you back, a rush of unearthliness that sends you spiraling up into the heavens.

The moments after release feel like falling-- no, like gliding. Your body is descending gently from somewhere high above yourself, above everything you thought you could ever know, and you feel as though there are wings cradling you as you do.

Castiel never stops touching you. His legs are intertwined with your own, fitting together like pieces of a lost puzzle. He’s stroking absently through your hair and when you close your eyes, you think you can see a glow from beyond your lids that is most assuredly coming from him.

“That was… unexpected,” he says after a time, a smile in his voice.

You laugh a little. “Expected sex doesn’t usually happen on the floor.”  
  
“Then maybe it’s time we move to the bed,” he responds, which sounds both like a terrible and a wonderful idea; wonderful for the feel of a bed beneath you, terrible for the part about moving, but you know that you should.  
  
Eventually, the two of you find your way to your feet and move from the cool ground to the soft, inviting plush of a mattress, the give of it earning a sigh of relief from you.  
  
You curl up under the blankets and feel safe beneath the cover of them; safer yet when Cas wraps his arms around you. Neither of you speak, each of you simply taking comfort in the feel of the other, intoxicated by the warmth and satisfaction of what you’ve just shared, knowing that whether or not this happens again tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, _never_ , at least you’ve had this.  
  
At least, if just for one moment, you had him, and he had you.


End file.
